


this time, love is for us

by wordswithinmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adoption!AU, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, parenting AU, tw mentions of depression/suicide, tw side character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswithinmoments/pseuds/wordswithinmoments
Summary: sakusa, the only constant in your life was the love that taught you two was enough. life, on the other hand, teaches you that in the unpredictability of things, a serendipity is bound to redefine the things you’ve considered as truth your whole life.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi & Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 103





	this time, love is for us

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted on my tumblr! (myelocin)

“ _It’s cold,”_ you say and Sakusa’s quick to wrap his scarf around your neck.

Each time he does, you consider it as a win. Sakusa was never one to particularly _prefer_ excessive public displays of affection, but more often times than he’d like, you always manage to catch him in moments he was feeling a little more relaxed.

 _Autumn,_ Sakusa thinks just may be his most favorite season by far. Something about the chill in the air, slightly emptier streets, and the changing colors of the leaves did just the trick to make the lengthy walks from school to train station a little more bearable.

 _And of course,_ Sakusa smiles, _another reason was you._

 _“It’s cold,”_ you’d tell him time and time again, especially during the final weeks of November where the last few leaves were threatening to fall as winter slowly rolled around. He knew you kept your own scarf tucked deep inside your school bag, under the notebooks where you scrawl some notes from the board in the margins at best, and beside the empty bento box that you always share with him during lunch.

But despite that, he’d only sigh before looping the dark green scarf he washes multiple times a week snug around your neck.

“You really need to start bringing your scarf,” he’d tell you, adding some comments as an afterthought that sounded more muffled under his mask, but you’d only beam at him in response.

You know he never minded.

And you’re glad he doesn’t—because after school walks with Sakusa Kiyoomi in the late autumn, who also happened to be your first friend and your first love, was your favorite perk in the season.

 _Sakusa,_ who you’ve known for most of your life. The kid from down the block who chose to walk _around_ the rain puddles when everyone else around his age— _at the time—_ only sought to hop straight into them.

 _“Why don’t you play in the rain puddles?”_ you remember yourself asking, opting to stand across him from the _other_ side of the puddle as you watched him furrow his brows together and step away from the edge where water met concrete.

 _“I don’t want my grandma to spend extra time cleaning my rain boots,”_ was his reply, and you can still— _to this day—_ recall the determined look on Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eight year old face as nodded his head at his own answer and moved even further away from the puddle.

The two little moles above his eyebrow looked like the connect the dots, well, _dots_ , from your activity book back home and it was then that you decided to make it your mission to befriend the cautious boy who avoided puddles because he loved his grandmother.

And it worked, you suppose, because more than ten years down the road, instead of walking around the puddles on the pavement, you spend your afternoons either watching him spike through blocks after school, or like now—tell him that you’re _cold,_ when in truth all you wanted to do was just be warm in _his_ warmth.

“Did you change the fabric softener?” you ask him, smelling something like peaches and cream instead of his usual scent of fresh linen.

“I did,” Sakusa hums. “Do you not like it?” he asks, but doesn’t really face you. He faces forward and watches for the pedestrian light to flicker back to green, so he watches the number count down as he waits for your response to his question.

“I like it,” you smile, pushing the fabric up against your face as you hide your smile behind the scent of peaches.

“Ah, that’s good to know,” Sakusa replies, almost immediately. He thinks about the crinkled receipt from your favorite boutique at the mall sitting between the pages of his textbook and decides that going through the awkward conversation with the salesladies gushing about how _sweet_ of a _boyfriend_ he is, was completely worth it.

But more so, he’s almost glad that like the receipt you didn’t see—you also don’t notice the way he’s already smiling under the mask.

-

 _“It’s cold,”_ you tell him almost seven years later, the smile on your face still as teasing as before, as you wait for him to open his arms for an embrace this time instead of just the scarf from before.

 _Peaches,_ Sakusa thinks. Your hair still smells like peaches after all these years. On the other hand, he can’t really bring himself to mind; he thinks he’s come around to realize that peaches are his favorite flavor now.

“When are you _not_ cold?” Sakusa comments, the tone of his voice sounding a little clipped, but you only laugh in return. Despite the bark in his voice, he tightens his arms around you as you glance up, peeking at him huffing clouds into the winter air.

“What time’s the bus coming?” you ask, breaking away from him and opting to hug him from the side instead. He still feels warm, so you smile and press your cheek against the sleeve of his jacket.

“In about ten minutes,” he answers. “Could be a while though, if there’s a lot coming on and off depending on the stop.”

“Wanna wait inside the café?” he suggests, motioning towards the one right across the street.

You shake your head, letting go of his arm and wrapping your hands around his midriff instead, saying, “I’m warm right now so it’s okay.”

Beneath his mask, he smiles—and looking at him, this time you could tell. You’ve been with him long enough to notice the way the corners of his eyes crinkle every time he smiles.

Sakusa realizes he likes looking at you like that, and the moments he shares with you after every time you say you’re cold are quick to become his favorite.

You, with your sheepish smiles, fruit themed keychains, and love for the autumn weather.

He smiles, watching you as you take the seat closest to the window first before quickly wiping the seat he’s meant to take with the disinfectant wipes you keep in your bag.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, feeling his heart warm even more when you smile at him.

For him, it’s not the way you remember the little things about him, but rather, it’s the unspoken way you go on about it. The almost natural flow you pulled him into, that he just _knows_ you outlined with nothing _but_ consideration.

You liked jumping straight for the puddles, but he preferred watching you smile with his rain boots dry. He knew you preferred to drink your coffee with a little more cream and sugar than he did, and even if he didn’t mind sweeter drinks from time to time—he always appreciates you asking how much cream and sugar he’d like for his regardless.

And it worked the same for you, you realize.

In silence, you notice how Sakusa always spends a second longer to look at you every time you pull out the wipes you keep in your bag just for him, and feel your heart warm when he laces your hand together afterwards.

You knew well enough that he preferred to keep his hands to himself, but the exceptions he makes for you were always appreciated on your end.

 _“I know I can be a little much sometimes,”_ he told you once, some years ago, when you were at the stage in your relationship where it felt safe to be with each other in complete vulnerability.

 _“I don’t mind,”_ you told him, because the truth was you really didn’t— _and still don’t_ —mind. _“You’re just a little more cautious than some, and that’s okay.”_

 _“You being a little more on the cautious side isn’t all there is to you, Omi,”_ was the last thing you said as you cupped his face in between your hands.

And to this day, you don’t forget the way his eyes soften with the _thanks_ he whispers as he turns his head and kisses you on the palm of your hand that night.

“We should make something for dinner tonight instead of eating out,” you quip next to him. You watch the people on the streets walk when the bus slows, and blur when it picks up momentum again. You hold Sakusa’s hand in between yours, absentmindedly playing with his fingers and the sleeve of his coat.

“Sounds good,” you hear him answer, before adding, “do we need to stop by the grocery store?”

You think about it, your eyes focusing on the child outside your window, lollipop in hand and a Totoro backpack behind him, as you mentally go over what you remembered what you saw in your refrigerator that morning.

“I think we’re all good,” you say. “But we can pick up some fruit for dessert?”

Sakusa doesn’t really think about it; he just nods. He could always go for some peaches, he supposes.

When the scenery outside begins to blur again, you turn to face his hand outstretched on your lap and begin to lightly scratch his open palm, then slyly look to the side where he’s facing you, watching for a change in his expression.

There isn’t one; if anything, he stares at you with his brow raised.

“Does it _not_ tickle?” you huff, holding his palm open and tracing over the middle with the tip of your nails instead.

“No,” he answers and you huff, pursing your lips before you ultimately decide to just lace your fingers through his instead. Sakusa squeezes your hand when you slot yours on top of his, and you turn to him, smiling.

“Love you,” you say, and even if you do so out of the blue, Sakusa chooses to smile. With his other hand, he pulls his mask down and leans towards you to press a kiss on your cheek, noticing how the skin’s a little cold compared to his lips.

“Love you too,” he murmurs and when you turn to him and give him another smile—the one that’s wide enough for him to make out the crinkling lines on the corners of your eyes, an epiphany strikes him.

He _loves_ you.

Sakusa’s struck with the epiphany that he’s never been _more_ in love with you than how he feels in this very moment.

But he realizes a second later, that he’s had this thought before too.

Yesterday, when he woke up before you and the alarm and spent the seven minutes before _07:30_ admiring how beautiful you looked with the spilled light highlighting the plains of your face. Last month, when he came home early from practice and watched you slightly dance off beat in the kitchen to the tune of a song he recalls you singing in the shower that same morning. Seven years ago, when he noticed you always packing an extra pair of chopsticks and pieces of fruit in your bento box for you to share with him during lunch.

Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that even if the two of you were nothing short of being the personification of oil and water, as time moves forward, he only spends the twenty four hours of his day unearthing moments with you where he feels his heart so _full_ that it seems like he can’t love you any more than he does in the moment.

Looking down at your hands where your left is intertwined with his right, he smiles. Sakusa thinks of the ring he remembers you commenting was pretty when you were at the mall a few weeks ago. He imagines how your hand would look with the ring he knows he’ll buy for you.

Then when you squeeze his hand, briefly turning at him with a smile as you point at the child outside with _raccoon-themed_ backpack, Sakusa feels a familiar warmth flood his chest as his eyes zeroes in on you as he feels himself smile.

He wonders if the smile you have now would look the same when you see the ring he’ll hold out for you when he does so with one knee on the ground.

And even if the ground were to have puddles that day, he supposes it would be worth it.

-

It’s _three years later_ , after a breathless _“yes,”_ tearful “ _I do,”_ and keys to your first house where he hears you say “It’s _too cold,_ ” again.

It’s the middle of the winter when you walk out the door, meaning to stop by the convenience store nearby when you make it outside the gate of your home and see a child standing outside with a dull gray backpack and while he wears a _too thin_ cardigan.

Sakusa sets his cup down, looks at you frantically calling him to come to the door, and grabs his coat and scarf as he makes his way to you.

When he walks out of the door and makes it in front of the gate, he sees you, squatting a little awkwardly in front of the child—who doesn’t look to be more than the age of even _five_ — stare at you with the grey backpack pressed to his chest and a slight tremble to his form.

He recognizes the look on your face—and he _knows_ that right at this moment your heart is already clenching.

“Where’s your mama?” you ask with a voice as gentle as your approach, and Sakusa decides to sit this one out as he stands behind you instead, leaning against the opened corner of the gate.

“She said I have to stay here,” he murmurs quietly, and when his body trembles again, Sakusa feels his fingers itch to wrap the scarf around him. You’re right— _it is_ too cold for a child to be out in a weather like this.

“Did she go somewhere? What about your papa?” you ask again, deciding to maintain your distance when the child in front of you begins to sniffle and tear up.

“I don’t have a papa,” he whispers, then sniffles again. “But I have a mama and she said she’ll be back so I’ll stay right here!” he finishes, puffing his cheeks in what you think is an attempt to keep the tears together.

You look at Sakusa, who stares at you looking equally unsure with what to do with the situation, but when he notices that you’re at a point where you’re at a loss of words, he chimes in for you. “How long have you been out here?”

Smiling, you shift to the side and listen as Sakusa’s voice softens when he addresses the child again. _He’d make a great father,_ you think.

“Here since…” the child trails off, then looks up when he remembers something. “—since after breakfast!”

Your brows furrow, and when you look at Sakusa, you notice that his expression mirrors yours. “Breakfast?” you hear Sakusa repeat, then look at the watch on your wrist. “It’s already five pm.”

“Have you eaten at all?” Sakusa instead asks him, and your heart can only squeeze again when he shakes his head _no._

“You said your mama just went to the convenience store, right? I’m on my way to go there so if I see someone maybe it’s her,” you say and the boy finally looks at you like he isn’t scared.

“Can you tell me your name? So she can recognize who I’m talking about,” you ask him again and he nods his head slowly before replying, “Arai Kazue,” with a small bow afterwards.

You smile; he’s still polite despite being scared.

“Do you wanna wait inside? It’s warm, and this uncle—“ you pause, gesturing towards Sakusa, “—can cook something so you can eat.”

His eyes brighten for a second, before he looked back down towards his shoes. “What if mama is on her way back, I don’t want her to worry.”

You check the time, glancing up towards Sakusa who only shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll be quick then,” you reassure him, and he bows again after a quiet _thank you._

Kazue shivers again, and before you could unwrap your own scarf, Sakusa is already squatting down next to you, wrapping the boy in familiar fabric.

“It’s cold,” Sakusa says, and bundles up the boy under more layers.

-

“She’s not at the 7/11, or the two Family Marts on the other street,” you tell Sakusa when you made it home.

It’s a little past six pm by now, and you’re at least thankful that your husband had managed to convince Kazue to wait for her inside after sticking a note outside their gate that would tell the mother— _if she came—_ that he was inside waiting for her.

“Has he said anything?” you ask, and sigh when Sakusa shakes his head _no._

“Do you think….?” you ask, trailing off and lowering the volume of your voice even more when you look at Kazue sitting in the living room, a bowl of ramen in front of him as he watches the television play a show you only skipped past in that respective channel.

“That she left him there on purpose?” he finishes for you, and you sigh, suddenly feeling like your shoulders are as heavy as the weight of the possibility in your husband’s words.

“Maybe,” you sigh, not really looking forward to uncover the truth because of all the red flags already popping up in the situation. “We should just call the police,” he suggests and you nod in agreement, deciding that for the moment that really was just your only option.

The _maybe,_ you referred to moments ago was later confirmed to just be the case because when Kazue later opens his backpack to show you the superhero he drew last night in his drawing book, a letter tumbles out before the book.

“Can I take a look at this?” you ask him, holding up the folded piece of paper with writing that _clearly_ didn’t look like his, and he nods, before turning to face Sakusa as he flips through the pages of his drawing book.

You meet Sakusa’s eyes midway, and he nods for you to read the contents of the letter before he faces Kazue again, expression knit together like he was leaning something new.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ it reads, and it isn’t specifically addressed to anybody. _“I can’t take care of him anymore,”_ it continues and your heart practically _drops_ as you continue to skim through the sentences forming one after the other.

You notice the lines on the paper are smooth instead of soft; not a crinkle in the edges, or smudges on the ink. _She’s been planning this,_ you notice, and when you look at Kazue who beams at Sakusa’s patient smile, your heart clenches even more.

_“I know you and your husband haven’t had a child yet, and I don’t know if you’re even trying for one, but I know the both of you will be well enough to take care of Kazue.”_

_“I have no one else, and when I leave, he will have no one else.”_

_“He’s a kind boy,”_ it reads towards the end, and this is where you notice the strokes of the letters beginning to look a little more inconsistent.

_“He eats his vegetables well, and he listens to his elders.”_

You think about the empty bowl on your sink and remember Sakusa’s comment about how surprised he was that a child at his age actually managed to finish the variety of vegetables he knows even adults have trouble keeping down.

 _“I know I’m not in a good space to take care of him like he deserves, and I’m at a point in my life where I can’t continue,”_ you further read and your stomach drops when the next line ends.

“ _If you accept him, thank you, but if this situation just happened to burden you, then I’m sorry.”_

Sakusa looks at you when you fold the letter back and choose to keep it in your hand instead of tucking it back into Kazue’s backpack. The zipper’s ripped off, you notice, and the straps look as worn as the scratches on the front pocket.

 _They must have had a tougher life,_ you think, and when Sakusa looks at you looking like he’s waiting for answers, you stay quiet because you don’t really know what to say.

By the time Kazue’s asleep in the guest room of your house, first you think about how plain the covers of the guest bed look next to the opened drawing book laid at the foot of the bed, all the colors of the rainbow looking like life against the white sheets behind it.

Then second, you think about the officer’s words that’s still ringing in your ear.

 _“We found a body by the river,”_ he said. _“We recovered a wallet with a photo of that boy inside,”_ he continues, and it’s 01:09 in the morning when the weight in your heart overwhelms you and you finally begin to cry. 

-

Much like the both of you expected, the weeks after that day didn’t come easy. Kazue, much like his mother said in the letter, really is a kind boy. He listened to his elders and patiently waited for them to finish speaking before he added some comments of his own.

Even as you watched him listen to the officer scramble for words to explain the reality of his situation, he told them _thank you_ for finding his mama before turning around and crying.

The investigation happened quickly, and it surprised you when Sakusa was quick to offer that Kazue was welcome to stay in the house during the process, seeing as none of the extended family members the police reached out to bother to respond.

“Are you looking to adopt?” was a question the officer automatically asked, and you could feel Kazue’s form stiffen in between you and Sakusa.

“We can take care of the costs for her funeral,” Sakusa instead replies, and when the officer looks at you in shock at the offer, you only nod your head.

“Thank you,” Kazue later says in the car ride home. He’s quiet afterwards, and Sakusa chooses to leave the car in silence as you continue to drive through the city, choosing to stop by the bakery on the way home to buy the cupcakes you saw doodled in the margin of Kazue’s sketchbook.

“What kind of cupcake would you like, Kazue?” you ask, turning around as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

He perks up in his seat behind you, fiddling with the buckle of his seatbelt as he puffs his cheeks and tells you, “It’s okay, I can eat whatever you pick.”

Sakusa beside you softens, then says, “You should go in with her so you can see what they have and pick out the one you like the most.”

“Can I?” he asks, looking at you, and you smile, slipping on your scarf as you push the car open. “Let’s go,” you call and Kazue clicks the buckle of his seatbelt, following in your suit.

“Make sure to put your scarf on,” Sakusa reminds, gesturing to the scarf he bought for him that morning. Sakusa smiles when he loops it around his neck, counting to three just like he taught him earlier, and tells him _thank you_ , before opening the door and grabbing your hand as you walk to the entrance.

Despite the heaviness of the situation, Sakusa lets himself sit for a while in the moment. For now, the heater in the car feels warm against his skin, and the smile on Kazue’s face as he grabs your hand and walks into the adequately lit bakery is bright. Then he looks at you, soft smiles and patient eyes as you hold the door open for him to walk through.

Sakusa thinks it kind of looks like home.

-

“What’s gonna happen to him?” you ask Sakusa a week after Kazue’s mother was laid to rest.

You sit in your side of the bed, keeping your voice hushed despite Kazue staying in the room on the other side of the house. Sakusa walks out of the bathroom, grey sweatpants and a plain blue tee on, before he takes a seat on his side.

He thinks back to the boy, at how red his face looked as he cried into your shoulder while you carried him back to the car after the burial. Then, at the drawing of the three of you Kazue shyly presented during dinner earlier that night. 

“The police are probably coordinating with the people that will take him in,” he answers you after taking some time to think about your question.

“Didn’t none of the relatives call back? And isn’t his father already gone too?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa sighs, pressing his fingers to his temple, choosing not to look at you when he notices the urgency your tone gives away. In a way, he already _knew_ of the question you were unintentionally leading up to.

“Kazue will probably be in foster care or the orphanage,” Sakusa finishes and beside him, you feel your heart already drop.

“Is the system going to be good for him?” you ask, turning your head so that your eyes meet Sakusa’s profile.

“I don’t know,” Sakusa answers, and truthfully, you aren’t even certain yourself if you want to know the answer.

“He’s just a child,” you say and Sakusa looks at you, sighing before he nods his head.

“Too young,” he murmurs and with that you put the book down and shuffle closer to him, watching with baited breath as you spill the thoughts in your head.

“Should we take him in?” you say quietly, and Sakusa’s eyes are quick to meet yours upon yours words.

“You mean adopt him?” he says a little quietly, the hesitation in his voice being the first tone you automatically pick up.

“I don’t want him to feel like he’s going to be left behind again,” you answer, truthfully, sighing as you recognize the undertone in your husband’s voice. Sakusa, for as long as you knew him was a man who practiced _caution._

He was, is, and judging from this moment, will _always_ be the one in the relationship to heed to practicality and reason instead of just flowing with the current. Like you’re doing now, you suppose.

“He’s been with us for less than a month, (y/n),” Sakusa tells you, his reminder not more than a whisper and it’s the softness and truth in them that finally gets you to see things from his perspective.

“The world is going to _break_ him,” you say, and when you think back to Kazue smiling at you as he tells you _thank you_ for the cupcakes you buy every other night—that’s when you finally feel the sadness spill from your eyes.

“He’s a kind boy,” Sakusa whispers when he opens his arms and lets you crawl into his side. “He’s tough enough to get through things.”

“The world isn’t kind,” you mutter against his chest, and despite Sakusa rubbing circles on your back to soothe the cries, he feels like he’s still at a loss for words.

Then when he goes to sleep that night, Sakusa dreams of empty sketchbooks and thin cardigans in winter weather.

He ceases to find rest that night.

-

“Why don’t you go out and play with the others?” you suggest, leaning down to Kazue’s height as you point to the playground not too far off. “Uncle Omi and I will be able to watch you from here.”

Kazue looks at you like he’s unsure of what to respond, then for a second lets go of your hand before deciding to reach forward and grasp it again.

“Last night was too rainy,” he says and you look at him, confused. Sakusa, beside you, does the same.

“Too many puddles on the ground,” Kazue explains, then looks down as he rocks himself to and fro with the balls of his feet. You smile; Kazue looks as cute in the yellow raincoat and matching rain boots Sakusa bought for him as he does wearing the raccoon themed backpack he shyly pointed to at the mall some days ago.

“Of course there are puddles, Kazue, it was raining last night,” you smile, letting go of his hand as you walk forward and lightly hop in the puddle.

Sakusa smiles as he watches you—it kind of feels like he’s looking at a page in the past.

But beside him, Kazue isn’t. Instead, he walks towards Sakusa and holds onto the edge of his coat as he continues to shake his head _no._

“I know that Uncle doesn’t like when the things you have are too dirty,” Kazue begins; beside him, Sakusa looks down, eyebrows drawn together.

“He bought me these nice clothes so I don’t wan’ to get them dirty,” he finishes, smiling at Sakusa when he looks up at catches his eye.

“Thank you!” he says again, and you watch, with your heart somewhere between bursting and melting as your husband wordlessly ruffles Kazue’s hair and holds out his hand for him to take.

Your heart hurts, you realize. Because after today, Kazue would only be a name you’ll relate to your past.

“You’re going to a new home,” you had to explain to him slowly, and it _hurt_ to tell him that because in the guest room—no _his_ room—that he’d been staying at, were the drawings of the superheroes you’d listen to him talk about night after night, portraits of smiling faces he said were of you, Sakusa, and his mother stuck to the wall behind his bed.

For the month he’d been staying with you, the “ _Tadaima,”_ you or Sakusa would call out when you arrived would be answered by Kazue’s quiet “ _Okaeri,”_ as he met you by the genkan.

“A new home?” he’d asked, and while you excused yourself to allow for Sakusa to explain the situation, you listened from the other side of the door with your hand shaking over your mouth.

“You’ll meet your new parents that way,” Sakusa explained, his voice sounding like he was in between uncertainty and despair.

It wasn’t easy, you think, telling a child who was abandoned and lost his mother in the same day that he’d be going back somewhere unfamiliar again—but you suppose between you and your husband, Sakusa was the one better suited to explain the situation.

“I know they won’t be new parents,” Kazue replied and as you peeked back in the room you see Sakusa staring at him with wide eyes as a silent response.

“They’ll just take care of me for now, and that’s okay. I’m still lucky,” he finishes and the conversation ended just like that.

“He’s gonna be okay,” this time you tell Sakusa as you notice his expression shift in time with his hand ever so slightly tightening around Kazue’s.

You notice everything. Sakusa’s conflicted, much like you were— _still are—_ but this, _this_ was the best you could do for him.

Having kids was never included in you and Sakusa’s plan from the start. Life before, with the two of you had always been enough, and while the two of you never let go of the insatiable hunger for life—you knew that your thirst for it would be quenched with just the two of you.

Until life, ironically the very thing you were chasing, decided to give the both of you something it knew you would flow with.

“Always remember to bundle up, okay?” you remind Kazue when you make it in front of the entrance with who you assumed to be the caretaker standing by the door. Sakusa watches Kazue watch you, the boy’s happiness spilling as warmth into his cheeks as his lips break out into a smile as he nods along to your reminders.

“Thank you,” Kazue says again—and Sakusa internally tries to recall the amount of times he’s said his thanks to the both of you that day. He loses count after he hit fifteen.

“I won’t get these dirty because I’ll take care of them,” He tells Sakusa, gesturing to the things he has with him then gives him a smile when he squats down and faces him eye to eye.

Then when Kazue puffs his cheeks and leans forward wrapping his arms around Sakusa’s neck for an embrace, you watch, feeling the familiar throb of your heart return tenfold. You meet his smiling eyes as he opens them, and when he stretches his hand out for you, you squat down behind Sakusa and kiss Kazue’s forehead.

“Be kind, okay?” you tell him and he nods his head, the smile on his face never leaving.

Sakusa stays still, only moving when he feels Kazue part with him.

 _Cold,_ Sakusa thinks, he feels a little cold.

And it’s only thirty minutes after walking into Kazue’s new _“home”_ where Sakusa feels the chills run through him again. He’s watching Kazue be introduced to the new children in the living room with you beside him, the caretaker’s words coming in one ear and floating out the other in seconds.

The guest room, or _Kazue’s_ room as he thinks of it, will still have the drawings he pinned to the wall behind his bed when he comes home. He thinks of the totoro themed comforter you bought for him and the fact that it will still look as neat as Kazue left it earlier that morning.

His mind plays back dinner from the night before, and how warm _his home_ felt when the three of you ate the dinner he cooked with the too many vegetables on the side, then laughed over the smudged chocolate frosting that you wiped on the corner of his lips as Kazue smiled at you both.

The room he sees him standing in now feels _cold,_ and when he sees Kazue shiver and clutch the raccoon backpack to his chest he feels like the very same scene from the month before is replaying right in front of him.

Sakusa thinks he hears your voice, when you tell the woman that’s been explaining the process next to you for a little over twenty minutes now say “ _thank you,”_ and “ _we’ll get going now,”_ register in his head before he feels his feet already taking strides for him.

“Kazue,” Sakusa says, and when the boy turns and looks at him, that’s when he notices how quiet the room’s gotten.

From your spot, you look at him, unsure of exactly _how_ to proceed because Sakusa—if anything, was never as unpredictable as _this._

“We’re going home,” you hear him say, and your grip on the strap of your bag tightens.

“Home?” Kazue echoes and Sakusa’s heart clenches when he hears the yearning in the boy’s voice.

“Yeah, we can have dinner again, like last night,” you listen to Sakusa say, and your heart is suddenly overflowing with everything you’ve held back. Sakusa’s smiling again—and you know his heart is in the same state, because his voice softens even more.

“Just for tonight?” Kazue asks, a little unsure.

“Every night,” Sakusa answers, and just like that you know that when you go home that night—you truly _will_ be home.

-  
“Mama, you really need to wear a scarf,” Kazue huffs as you walk with him to the entrance of your front door.

You nod at his words and wave him off with the _yes,_ you’ve been responding to his every reminder for the past twelve years now. Kazue— _your son—_ looks at you with the same softness in his eyes as ten years ago when he finally made it _home._

“I’m serious,” he laughs, before leaning forward and letting you fasten the buttons on his winter coat.

Kazue grew up, with the roots of his personality remaining unchanged. _He’s a kind boy,_ you think to yourself every day. When he turned seven and made Sakusa wait in the car so he could help the grandmother cross the street. When he was ten, and somehow persuaded your husband to let him keep and nurse the stray cat from your neighborhood back to health. And at seventeen—the _now,_ as you listened to him talk about how he was going to lead his team into nationals.

“You remember what your dad told you?” you ask, smiling as he nods and points to Sakusa from inside, hollering “ _thanks dad!”_ with a laugh.

“I’d say I have the perks of having a national athlete as a father, but really, dad’s just _that_ good of a coach.”

You smile, leaning to the side as you hear Sakusa’s footsteps grow closer and closer until you felt his presence right behind you. Leaning back to his chest, you kiss his jaw as a _hello,_ laughing when Kazue groans at the “ _PDA”_.

“We’ll make it to your game later, but have a good time in school,” you hear him say and Kazue nods as he fastens the zipper of his bag and waves at the both of you.

“Love you!” he calls out, walking down the steps and out the gate.

“We love you,” you murmur, your heart filling with the familiar sense of pride as you watch him leave, his dad’s jersey number on his back.

“It’s cold,” Sakusa says, then kisses the crown of your head when you turn to face him. “We should head back inside.”

Smiling, you tug the blanket closer to yourself as you answer, “It’s alright. I think I’ll stay here a bit.”

“Something on your mind?” Sakusa asks, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the bench beside you in your front porch. Like habit, he takes the scarf from around his neck and loops it around you with a smile, ignoring the way you pat his wrist as if to tell him _don’t bother._

“It’s cold,” he laughs, and you roll your eyes knowing that he mostly does it now because of the sentiment it holds for the both of you.

“Home always feels warm, though,” you answer, and Sakusa only nods at your words, the corners of his own lips stretching into a smile like yours.

“We kind of went off the plan we originally had,” you laugh after some silence passed.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, tone even because he already knows the answer to the very question he posed.

“Of course not,” you smile. “I knew we never planned on having kids of our own, but Kazue’s a blessing.”

“He is,” Sakusa replies, smiling at the thought of his son.

His _son,_ he likes to think of it. The memory of Kazue calling him _dad_ for the first time never fails to make warmth spill from his heart.

Watching the smile bloom wider from his profile, you clasp your hand over his and watch as the light from the winter sun catches the band on his left ring finger.

His ring—the one matching the one on your left remained the same, and while your thoughts of the future are completely opposite to the ones you envisioned from before—you realize that _this_ was the grand plan from the heavens all along.

And there isn’t one thing that you’d change about it.

So when Sakusa looks at you, saying, “ _We did good,”_ the happiness in your heart overflows and spills into your cheeks as tears.

“We did,” you respond, the sincerity in your voice assuring Sakusa that you really, _truly_ do mean it.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @honeymakki | tumblr (myelocin) :D


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